


Well. Fuck.

by quondam



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 02:17:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quondam/pseuds/quondam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he least expects it, Garrus finds Shepard at the door of his apartment on the Citadel, looking for a place to spend the night.</p><p>Set between ME1 & ME2. Prompt called for a fill on humor & sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well. Fuck.

  
  
There was a familiarity to the situation in which he sat: a cup of spiced herbal water gone cold and leaving a wet ring on the desk; his private terminal open and on, its screen unchanged over the last few minutes; and Garrus’ finger poised over the enter key, letting his future hover in that state of flux between risk and reward. Years ago in that very apartment, Garrus was sure the scene had been exactly the same including the hour of night it was, as he waited for the precise moment for the courage to find him and hit _Submit_ on the data file that was his formal application to the Council, seeking admittance and acknowledgement in becoming a Spectre.

He sighed aloud at his reluctance, arms raised to cross behind his head while eyes never strayed from the screen that held his fate. There would be no one to interfere this time, his father long since retired from C-Sec, and after the Battle of the Citadel, he was not just a nameless face. He actually had a shot… and that was perhaps what left him hesitating at the finish line.

Garrus leaned back in his desk chair and a squeak resounded at the shift in weight. It was enough of a welcomed opening for him, brow-plate raised in a question as his eyes finally tore away from the dreaded screen. He shifted forward in his seat then back again, testing for consistency in the chair’s misbehavior, and again did it let out a whining groan, this one louder than before.

“Huh.”

He rose and turned the chair over, examining the underside for any obvious signs of anything a touch out of place. It was business as usual, but he remained unconvinced and unsatisfied, returning to the object in question with a set of tools, a small bottle of oil. It was cathartic to take the chair apart, piece by piece, first separating the actual seat from the base and then disassembling the piston and mechanism that allowed the seat the slight recline.

The process was methodical, no attention to detail spared as he cleaned each piece of dust and grease build-up, lining them up like he would have the parts of a gun after a particularly grueling mission beside Shepard and Wrex. That was more good gun maintenance and being prepared for anything, however, and less about avoiding real life all on behalf of an ill-fated squeak.

Garrus was knee deep in washers and screws when the bell of the apartment entrance rang, lifting his head in a curious glance back towards the tiny entranceway as he ran a washer  through an old rag. Things had been quiet around here lately, the reporters seeking a comment had died down weeks ago, and even the old C-Sec buddies stopping by to say hello had run thin as time distanced him from Saren’s ultimate end. What short attention spans they all had.

It rang again, and though it was just a single tone, Garrus swore he could almost hear the insistence in the sound, the inanimate object capturing the interloper’s eagerness. Before he could even reach the door, it rang for a third time, and Garrus’ nose wrinkled in irritation at the unknown.

“Spirits,” he mumbled to himself, and pounded the side of his fist into the door’s nearby control panel, automatically triggering the unlocking protocol.

On the other side was perhaps the last person he ever expected. Commander Shepard.

“Surprise?”

The bag on her shoulder left her weight unevenly distributed, body hunched slightly to one side, feet planted apart. Spectre that she was, Shepard would always be Alliance first, and it was reflected in the off-duty uniform she wore, even if the blouse was half untucked at the waistband of her pants. For Shepard, that was downright slovenly.

“Commander,” he greeted her stiffly but nervously, and immediately wiped his palms clean on the thighs of his cloth pants.

Shepard quickly started in. “I know what you’re thinking. And that’s ‘Why on Palaven is the illustrious,” lips quirked in a smile, “beautiful,” her voice dropped half an octave, sultry in tone, “and dangerous, Commander Shepard at my door? I’m just a lowly turian, unworthy of her very presence.’”

A laugh rumbled at the back of his throat and he didn’t bother to hold it back.

“To that I’d reply that yes, yes you are very well beneath me. I am a Council Spectre after all.” She winked, her facade otherwise serious.. “However, when I missed my shuttle off this glorified space station I began to think—isn’t there a crabby turian that I’d let squat on my ship for weeks at a time? Surely after the kindness I showed him, he would happily accept the honor of allowing me to sleep on his couch for the night.”

“Ah,” he nodded, playing along. “I believe you call it quid pro quo.”

“Besides,” and she reached into her bag, fighting with the zipper for half a moment before she was able to grasp the item she desired. Shepard held up the glass bottle of amber liquid, cradled it to her chest like a proud parent would their newborn infant. With innocent eyes through thick lashes, she glanced up to him and asked, “could you be so cold-hearted to turn us out?”

Garrus stepped aside, arm waving her in. Shepard wasted no time in taking advantage, and when she was far enough in the apartment to turn around, she did so, this time presenting the bottle of alcohol to him.

“No, no,” his head and hands shook, “I don’t know if I’m ready for the responsibility of parenthood just yet. You can’t prove it’s mine.”

“I knew that’s what you’d say.” Diving back into her still open bag, she produced another similar bottle, though this one held a blue liquid and its label was in a turian script rather than the human markings that were featured on the first. “That’s why I didn’t tell you it was actually twins. And look,” her arms full, she juggled the bottles, raising the second one up as high it would go as she affectionately nuzzled her cheek and jaw against the glass. “He even has your eyes. Congratulations, Papa. It’s a hangover in a bottle. You must be so proud.”

Damn. He hadn’t realized how much he missed her. Missed the Normandy, the camaraderie, the entirety of the crew including Shepard, yes. But just her? It hadn’t ever occurred to him to miss the human that much.

“Been rehearsing that long?” He moved to help her with the bottles, and Shepard nodded her thanks as she was finally able to set her bag down. She rubbed her shoulder, sore from the weight of it.

“Only since the liquor store—Jesus,” she paused, halfway into the main living space of his apartment, eyeing the mess of nondescript metal bits across his floor. “You assembling an IED? Something I should know about, Garrus?”

“That, ah—” He placed the bottles on the kitchen counter that overlooked the living room and joined her where she stood. There was a sigh and then a shake of his head. He’d completely forgotten. “If I knew you were coming I wouldn’t have, but there was a… squeak.”

Eyebrows raised and her hands set on her hips, her body canted at the waist ever so slightly to eye him. “A squeak?”

“You know, when it reclines. It squeaks.”

“So you took it apart? For a squeak?”

“Well, I didn’t have anything better to do.”

“Remind me not to let you near the Mako again,” and with that, she punched at his shoulder playfully. “I’d hate to think what you’d do to her if you heard it squeak and happened to be bored.”

“No worse than what you do when you drive it,” he protested.

“Hey! I won’t have you mocking my driving on shore leave. This is a judgment free zone.”

“You’re in my apartment, Shepard.”

“Well by some kind of Spectre Authority I don’t know of, I’m temporarily commandeering this apartment and declaring it a ‘No Mocking Shepard’ zone.”

“Are you going to arrest me if I don’t follow orders?”

Shepard seemed to pause to think out the reply. There was no clever quip to follow her though, no playful sparring of words. Instead, she just bumped her hip into his as they both continued to stare at the pile of pieces that once made up a desk chair. “Normandy hasn’t been the same without you.”

He, too, softened. It wasn’t an outright declaration of her missing him, but in Shepard’s own way, that’s exactly what it was.

“I’m not complaining,” he said, curiosity in his voice, “but what are you doing here?”

Shepard pulled away, making a bee-line for where her peace offerings sat on one of the counters in the small, open kitchen. Military life left her with the ability to make herself at home anywhere, and it took Shepard nary a moment to get herself acquainted with his place. She opened cabinet after cabinet.

“I told you. Missed my shuttle,” she answered quickly, “you got cups?”

“Left of the sink—No, your other left.”

“Gotcha,” she declared, and pulled out a pair of low rising glasses. Shepard raised them to him in a sign of victory and then set them to the counter, opening the bottles. First, hers. Second, his. Each got a generous helping, and before she’d even handed his glass over, Shepard was downing hers with a little too much enthusiasm.

“I’ll catch one out tomorrow,” she supplied but avoided his gaze, and poured another serving of the burning liquid. Her movements, which had been quick and erratic, suddenly slowed, and finally since he’d found her outside his apartment door, Shepard seemed to take real pause, loaded with apprehension. “If you’re busy or just don’t have room…”

Had he known she was coming, he would have made preparations. Would have cleaned, cleared the clutter, made arrangements so that the apartment was better fit for a human guest rather than just the lonely turian who resided there on his own. To say his place was a bachelor pad was an understatement, not that Garrus believed Shepard would ever bring a feminine touch to her own place anyway, but still, the thought of the Commander existing in the same room as all his personal mess… well, it was unsettling. But also too late to do anything about now.

“I’m not sure how comfortable you’ll be here, but you’re always welcome,” he stated with a nod, and took a sip of the alcohol she offered. It wasn’t his favorite, not by a long shot, but the knowledge that it had been brought as a gift made the taste a little easier on his palette.

“I’ll be out of your, uh, fringe, before you know it. Promise.”

“Hey,” he said, and gently touched her elbow for half a second, looking to still her. “You’re welcome here, Shepard. For as long as you need.”

Her eyes met his, holding the gaze until she felt she could take no more. As always, there was a kind of genuine warmth there, the same look that had often brought her down to visit him during his time on her ship. Shepard couldn’t help but smile, though it started small and grew slowly, dimples forming over her cheeks when it was in full bloom. She touched him right back, fingers to his own sharper elbow.

“Let’s get you another drink and then I want to hear all about what you’ve been doing without me.”  
  
—  
  
The night passed, measured not in hours gone but in the slowly sinking line of alcohol in their respective bottles. For his size, Garrus should have been the one to put away more of the cheap, but potent, liquor, though it was Shepard who drank with abandon, and it didn’t take long for him to realize it was done with a purpose. She was burying something, drowning herself in alcohol to keep something else faded away. He’d wanted to ask all night, ever since her first nervous word of greeting to him outside his apartment, but it hadn’t seemed right. Maybe Shepard had earned the privilege of keeping her secrets to herself, even if Garrus knew that it was usually best to spill them out in the open where they lost their power to fester and spread like a cancer.

Shepard had abandoned her glass sometime before, hand curled around the narrowed neck of the bottle as it sat nestled in her lap. Her legs were curled up into eachother, interlocking pieces like a human child often sat, but even he was baffled as he saw Shepard settle into the position with ease. Legs just didn’t seem like they were supposed to bend that way, at least not to him. It brought a childishness to her, a friendly intimacy as they shared his floor together. The couch had been given up two human fingers’ width of alcohol earlier.

“Had enough?” He asked, and motioned his head in the direction of her drink of choice.

She smiled wide, the kind of grins that only ever came with being intoxicated, at least for Shepard. “No, not even close.” For effect, she drew the bottle up, took a swig, not even wincing as the burn rinsed down her throat.  
Garrus smiled in his own way and held back his sigh for her. He parroted the action of drinking—he still used the cup, only slow, shallow sips taken as of late—so she wasn’t alone, and rested the glass back down on the floor beside him.

“So where are you headed?”

“What?” She looked up quickly, bewildered.

“You missed your flight out of here. Where are you going on your shore leave?”

The action of her swallowing was visible, followed by another mouthful of the alcohol, done only to buy herself time. Shepard wiped her lips with her other hand, slouched forward as her elbow came to rest on her thigh. “I… I don’t know.”

Her words were so pitiful that the guilt immediately covered him. For all the prying he’d wanted to do, he hadn’t expected that. Garrus had every intention of letting the statement of indecision remain where it laid, but it was Shepard who broke up the awkward silence.

“I had plans,” she insisted, defending herself like a lost little orphan with nowhere to go, “but I got to the dock and I just… I couldn’t. It was more trouble than it was worth, would only make things worse.”

There were pieces of the story missing, the narration hard to follow, but he understood the basics, at least. “Friend?” He inquired. Family wasn’t an option for her, he knew that much about Commander Shepard. What family she had once had no longer lived and breathed. He said a silent prayer to his Spirits, reminded himself to call his mother, to ask about her visit to the doctor; to bug his sister for the latest details on the going ons in her life; and maybe even trade words with his father.

Next to him, Shepard simultaneously gave a half-hearted shrug and a desperate, angered exhale of air.

“Something like that.”

“What does that mean?”

“Exactly what you think it means.” She raised an eyebrow at him.

His own brow-plates shifted down at the furthest corners, expressing his confusion. Oh. Oh. Confusion warped into a leering grin. He whistled, or at least it was the turian equivalent of the sound. “You know you can’t not tell me about the person that Commander Shepard, savior of the Citadel, was going to bed, right? Consider it payment for spending the night.”

Shepard groaned, head shaking. “Your honorable turian sensibilities won’t approve, Garrus.”

“Yeah well, I’m not a very good turian. So try me.”

“He’s older. A bit older.”

“Like, Udina older?”

Her mouth gaped, the expression of disgust over her features. “You’re a fucking sicko, you know that?”

“You were the one who didn’t clarify.”

“No,” she hmphed, “not that much older. Twelve, thirteen years, I think? He’s in the Alliance.”

“Ah,” he nodded, “so there’s the problem.”

“Not just that,” she shook her head dismissively, eyes on the bottle in her lap, finger nails peeling at the label. “When I went into N-school, he was one of the officers who did the initial training.”

“I’m not even in the Alliance but I can name ten different regulations that broke.”

“Mm, yeah, maybe a few more. And I know what you’re thinking—did I make it as an N1 just because of our relationship? But no,” and she was adamant about her words, hand cutting through the air to dismiss the notion, “it didn’t start until after I finished. And besides—we were passed or dismissed by a council, anyway.”

“I wasn’t going to say—”

“It was stupid,” she went on, and from the way she spoke, eyes far away and settled on a distant piece of flooring rather than him, it was clear she talked more for herself than for him. “And it went on for far too long. There wasn’t any way for it to end other than for us to get caught and ruin both our careers, so when I found out I was getting assigned to the Normandy… I called it off. For good.”

Shepard wasn’t a by the book kind of soldier. She followed the rules when she could, but if pushed, she’d make her own way, carve her own path. It was probably why and how she earned the N7 designation and definitely the reason she was one of the few Spectres in the entire galaxy. Even so, Garrus hadn’t expected that kind of confession from her. In most ways, he idolized her for the things she did. He wouldn’t easily confess it, but he had her on a pedestal, looked at her like someone a little more than the rest of them, though as she sat beside him and bared a small piece of herself, he saw that pedestal crumbling, breaking, falling. But it didn’t ruin the image he held of her, rather, it brought something else to the table. She was just as fallible as all the rest, and in spite of it, she still succeeded where others failed.

“So what made you think you should go see him again, then?”

“That,” Shepard raised her bottle, “is a good question.” Where she’d been maudlin and solemn before, that smile returned to her, no doubt thanks to her inebriation. “It’s called ‘you haven’t gotten laid in months and when your ex-boyfriend comes booty-calling after your mug is plastered all over the news and extranet because you saved everyone’s collective asses, your hand doesn’t feel like enough anymore.’” She took a much needed breath.

If he’d been drinking, he’d have spit out whatever was in his mouth at her. Instead, he settled for a choking cough. His body warmed, oddly, at the thought.

“Oh, so you know what I mean?” Shepard cocked her head and continued to wear that grin. She’d chosen her words well.

Garrus downed the rest of his drink for dramatic effect. “You know, I actually thought you and Kaidan had something going on.” He’d seen the way Kaidan had looked at her, like a puppy dog almost, eager to follow her every move and order, even—no, especially—if it led him to her bed. Garrus had even seen him head up to her quarters the night before Ilos, not returning until morning. He’d only assumed what everyone else did as well.

Her face wrinkled. “Almost was, but even if I was already breaking every reg in the book in stealing the Normandy, it didn’t feel right to to add another to the list.”

“It would’ve certainly complicated things.”

“Yeah.” Her head hung in a heavy nod. Another sip, this time longer than all the rest. She shut her eyes for an extended moment. “It was for the best, though, especially since we’re both going to be on the Normandy together indefinitely. I don’t need that hanging over my head, or him thinking he’s got some claim on me, some in with the boss.”

“I forget how different turian ships are,” he said with a shake of his head. “There’s a benefit to ah, blowing off steam, if you catch my drift.”

“Mm, I do.”

“Keeps everyone focused and we all know it doesn’t mean more than just what it was.”

Interest piqued, she questioned him, a laugh to her tone. “You just…what the hell, are your cruisers just a space-going orgy?”

“Jealous?”

Exaggeratedly, she tugged on the crotch of her trousers, feigning discomfort. “No, just wondering if turians have got the number of STIs humans do. Your dick must be a cess pool of disease, Garrus.”

“You’re the one drawing conclusions. I was joking—”

“Do you even _have_ a penis?”

While they’d been playful a moment before, Garrus gave real pause, mouth opening and closing, sputtering for a response. “What do you think we have? Do you think we mind-meld to reproduce? Release spores?”

“I don’t know! Maybe you lay eggs! Everyone always says turians look like birds or dinosaurs, but I’m in the insect camp, and _insects_ lay eggs. Besides, I’m not the one rolling around the galaxy ‘blowing off steam’ with anything that moves. That’s you, if you’ll recall.”

“With other turians, not with—”

“I don’t have a Fornax subscription like you did back on—”

“That wasn’t mine!”

“Yeah, okay,” she nodded with embelishment, the corner of her mouth quirking into a smile. “You just read it for the articles, big guy?”

“Joker—”

“Oh don’t blame everything on Joker. You’re a strapping young turian lad, Garrus, if you didn’t jerk off at some point while you were on the Normandy, I’d be worried about you.”

“Frankly I don’t know how we managed to get the best of Saren if you were as busy with your hand as you seemed to imply, Shepard.” That was it, turn the tables. “No wonder you spent so much time in your cabin.”

“We’re not talking about me. Besides, I’m a lady, ladies don’t do _that_.”

“You just said—”

“I have no recollection of to what you are referring.”

His eyes narrowed at her and she returned the expression. It only took a moment for both to give in to the laughter that bubbled in their throats. Shepard heaved with belated breaths, tears forming at the corner of her eyes.

She wiped them away as the giggles subsided. “I’m actually offended with how little they feature humans in Fornax.”

A brow plate rose, a silent comment on her admission that for all her earlier teasing, Shepard was a frequent, ahem, reader, of the Galaxy’s most popular publication. “Need to find your niche, I guess. Besides, you do look awfully similar to asari. You’re nothing special.”

“Nothing special?” The comment renewed her, and though her movements weren’t as graceful, planned, or fluid as they were in battle, or for that matter, just when she wasn’t drinking, Shepard managed to rise to her knees, setting the bottle aside. “Garrus, you’d be taking that back if you’d been with a human.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged casually. “I haven’t. And I’ll never understand the appeal of those—” A hand motioned in the general direction of her breasts. “—they’re for your children, and somehow they make your people hot? Spirits, it doesn’t make any sense. And kissing! I don’t know how you’re not all dead.”

“Cost-benefit analysis,” she said, as though the answer was as plain as day. “It feels damn good, so it’s worth the risk of catching something. Besides, it’s not like we’re kissing the people hacking and gagging.”

He was firm in his denial, even as he was otherwise distracted in filling his glass once more.

“You’re just bitter,” she hummed. “Bitter you look like an ant and no one’s ever wanted to kiss you.”

Laughter poured out of him. “Yeah. That’s definitely it.”

“You know, Garrus,” and this time her voice was a purr, coquettish and low as she crawled over the bit of space between them. She pushed his hovering hand, the one with his glass, aside. “I could give you lessons if you asked nicely.”

His eyes widened where he sat, locked on her without a thing in the universe to pull them away. Saren could rise from the dead, burst into the apartment with the senior Vakarian in a headlock, and Garrus wouldn’t be able to look anywhere else. He stuttered. “Y-you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Yeah I have,” she agreed with a nod, but continued her movements anyway, this time a hand rising to stroke over his forearm, feeling the hard ridge of plates below the cloth of his sleeve. “So I’ve got a good excuse. Now c’mere.”

Her hand grappled with his collar, fingers pulling at a mix of fabric and his actual body beneath it, and when she drew herself in near to him, Garrus could not only feel the heat of her breath, but smell the alcohol on her tongue. She may have been the one doing the accosting, but all the same he felt as though he was taking advantage, even if she clearly wasn’t as far gone as he’d first thought. Garrus gripped her upper arm, holding her steady but not pushing her back. Their eyes met, so close he nearly went dizzy from the proximity of green eyes to his blue.

“Stay still,” she urged, talking through her wide smile. “Don’t be a baby. You’re what? Thirty years old? And you still haven’t had your first kiss.”

“Twenty-nine,” he corrected, even though that should have been the furthest thing from his mind.

“ _Twenty-nine_ , then. You’ve traveled the galaxy, Garrus, time to open yourself up to new opp—” Brows furrowed, she tried again. “Oppra—Oppur—Fuck it.” She pressed her mouth to his.

To say he felt like a floundering fish would have been putting it mildly. Where he was hard, she was soft. Where his plates were dry, her lips were moist. Where he was surprise and caution, Shepard was fierce determination. And what was more, was that even though it was foreign and strangely odd… Garrus loved it.

Shepard pulled her body against his, half kneeling, half sitting on him, her chest and abdomen pressed flush. Her lips parted and Garrus followed her move for move, compensating for the differences in physiology. Shepard’s tongue, warm and wet, followed along the curvature to his mouth’s upper plate, kiss gone slightly sloppy in the process. It wasn’t her finest, not anywhere near close, but she wasn’t of the mind to care. For Garrus, it was all new, and if she’d been doing it horribly, bafflingly wrong, he never would have known. It just felt good.

His hand sat against the middle of her back, just below and between her shoulder blades, and it was with a soft sigh that Shepard finally let her lips slip from his own to take a gasping breath. Both panted, and for nearly a minute neither said a word.

“Still don’t see what you were talking about,” Garrus denied.

“Fucking turian—”

“—So maybe we should try it again.” Before the disgruntled expression could even fade from her lips, they were joined again, this time of his own accord.

Shepard hummed at his newfound expertise. A quick learner: that he most certainly always had been. A mandible flicked against her jaw, his tongue fought entrance to her mouth, his teeth—surprisingly gently—nipped her bottom lip. And his hands—his hands!—had headed particularly southward on her backside, palming at her firm rear, his thumb even slipping between her skin and the waistband of her trousers. She moaned, desperately so, and pulled back, her cheeks rosy with the heat she felt pooling in her belly. Garrus’ eyes opened, sleepy, but as equally invested.

For a moment, the room was perfectly quiet, Shepard leaning back from her position half atop him, using the hand at the back of his neck to keep her steady along with his around her waist. They eyed one another, both panting, fighting for oxygen, and somewhere in the back of their hazy heads, considering what they’d just done.

“So…” She said, fighting back an awkward smile. “I guess I should…” And she moved to let go of his neck, to shift back onto the floor and away from the warmth he provided, but before she’d gotten too far, just barely making it off his lap, she looked back to him once again. Like she’d done a few minutes before, she was all in. “Come here.”

“Thank the Spirits,” Garrus groaned, his sudden lack of self control and form surprising himself. Blame it on the alcohol, he decided in an instant, and in the next breath was on her, this time pushing her down and to the floor. Shepard giggled. Giggled. He was pretty sure he was the only living person in the galaxy who had ever heard that sound out of her.

“I need to show you what these girls are all about,” she stated, one handedly tugging at the collar of her off duty uniform shirt, compelling the buttons back through their holes and to release simply by force. Making quick work of the blouse, it wasn’t long before the garment was left open, exposing the pale and scarred torso he’d seen a few times, like when they sparred or when she stripped from her armor and undersuit with the rest of the crew if her things were particularly dirty or in need of repair. This time however, there was an undeniably different connotation to her level of undress as she was laid out on his floor with him kneeling between her spread legs.

“That’s different,” he said matter of factly, pulling unapologetically at the thin strap of her bra.

“The ones I usually wear are more for active duty. This,” and she palmed her breasts rather roughly, hands hiding the intricate lace detailing of the bra’s cups cut to only conceal the bare necessities. “Is for getting laid. Or when you’re really hoping for it.”

“Ah, turians are more about underwear, I suppose. Since there’s nothing… on top.”

“In that case, I can’t wait to see what kind of lacy little thong you’ve got on, Garrus,” she winked, and arched her back, reaching behind her to fiddle with the clasps of her bra. After releasing, she was careful in sliding her arms free of the straps and the rest of her shirt, still keeping the front of the bra in place, saving the big reveal until the end.

“Who said I’m showing you anything?”

“Mm,” she purred teasingly, “I did. Don’t be ashamed of what you like to wear when nobody’s looking. Judgment free zone, remember? I’ll only laugh for a few minutes.”

“Quit stalling,” he groused, rolling his eyes.

Shepard listened to his eager complaint and pulled the limp bra away, exposing her breasts to him.

“Underwhelming,” he said with his best bluffed tone of disinterest, but continued to watch them, studying. They were small from the position she was in, flattening out due to the effects of gravity, but there was still a definitive swell to them. The most striking part was that bulls-eye like nipple in the center, the skin around the hardened point a shade of pink and red he didn’t think he’d ever seen. Fornax had not done justice to all the details of human breasts up close and in person. From the tiny, nearly nonexistent bumps, to the absolutely mesmerizing way they fluidly bounced with each slight movement Shepard made. Oh Spirits, he wanted to see how they moved when when she laughed.

“I thought they were underwhelming?” chided Shepard. “I do have eyes you know.”

He was thankful turians couldn’t blush like humans could, and hoped she didn’t notice the faint blueish tinge appearing at the thinner skin of his throat. “So they’re just… decoration?”

“Oh boy,” she laughed, and Garrus said yet another prayer—this one of thanks—for the Spirits watching over him granting him his wish so early. “You’ve got no idea, kid, no idea.” Her hands made it to her chest and began slow movements at her breasts, movements that were well-practiced by the look of it. Her fingers squeezed at the tissue, changing position slightly after each release of contraction, covering a new bit of ground. She stopped and pinched the sharp peak of nipple between her thumb and her forefinger, and whether Shepard meant to or not, she let out the softest moan.

“That’s… a no, then,” he said, dumbfounded.

“You want a go?” She didn’t give him the chance to refuse, pulling his hand, and subsequently him, closer, so that he was leaning over her and supporting his weight with his free hand. The one she captured was brought to her breast, and he marveled at the difference in how much real estate of her skin his larger palm covered. His second thought, however, was far more juicy, and that was of how unbelievably soft she was right there. Humans were squishy, there were still far too many jokes about them going around even this many years after the Relay 314 incident, but he hadn’t realized just how true that was. But also, how good it was, as well.

“You’re an old pro at this. Sure you haven’t been with an asari before?” Shepard smiled, a sign the question was rhetorical.

Experimentally, be pinched at her nipple, miming her actions from earlier. Shepard bit her lip, her body tensed, and just barely on the periphery of his view, he caught the way her thighs tightened together.

“Don’t keep doing that unless you intend on finishing what you start, Garrus,” warned Shepard.

He swallowed. “And what if I want to?”

For how distracted she was, especially as he switched to her other breast, plucked at the opposing nipple, Shepard held eye contact with him steadily, trying to read him. Breathily, she spoke, her voice lower, bringing a challenge. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not.”

She pressed her thighs together again. A good sign, he imagined.

“Despite my thorough Fornax browsing, I’ve got to admit… I don’t know shit about being with a turian. I’m not saying I don’t want to, just that you’ll have to, you know, help me out.”

“I can do that,” he nodded, ignoring the voice in the back of his head protesting with doubts of logic, “so long as you do the same.”

Her smile grew, wary as it was, and then she was laughing again, hand to her forehead, pushing through her hair as she looked to the ceiling. “Lord. I’m going to fuck a turian. If I come out of this with puncture wounds from any part of you,” she said, glancing back to him, and this time used the voice she so often had when acting as the Commander, “I’ll have your fucking ass for it, you got that, Vakarian?”

Garurs’ mandibles spread wide. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now start by getting that god damn shirt off, because I’ve got no fucking idea how you even get into that thing.”

It was his turn to find humor in her words, sitting back up on his knees as he undid the fastenings at the sides, letting the fabric come loose enough to begin sliding it upward of his large carapace. Without it, he was a mixture of shiny and matte, plates and hide, sharp and dull. Shepard didn’t know where to look, what to touch first. There were things on a human man, hot spots that got them in the mood when caressed, nipped, stroked. She wasn’t sure if turians even had a spot of them that wasn’t meant for killing, thrashing something apart. Shepard sat up to get closer to him, and dove in, groping her hands over his upper chest.

“You look like you’re blind,” he verbally jabbed.

“Shut up. I’m feeling you out. You ticklish?”

“Ticklish?”

“…Nevermind. So I’m guessing…” Her lips pursed, eyebrows equally pushing together as she looked him over. It made Garrus feel far more naked than he actually was. “Between the plates? How’s that feel?”

“Odd,” answered Garrus, just as she ran her fingers between some of the larger ones on his chest. He stopped her, taking Shepard’s hands much like she had to his, and directed them down to his slim and rather unprotected waist. “Here’s good. Just… this whole area—ah—yes—”

“I learn quick too.” Shepard bent forward as far as she could, licking from the center on up to where the real plates began. Garrus shuddered under her touch. “What about your neck? Not a lot of plates there either.”

“Neck’s nice,” he barely got out, eyes shutting to focus on her fondling. Her mouth abandoned his midsection and ventured north. Shepard employed the use of her lips there too, licking, kissing, and then—oh Spirits—sucking on a patch of skin. It was like nothing he’d ever felt.

“Gonna have a mark there tomorrow,” she said, gasping for breath as she pulled back, hand swiping over where she’d previously been, admiring her work.

“What?”

“Mmm, old human necking tradition.”

“…What?”

“Nothing, forget about it,” she gave up. He’d understand when he saw the spot of blue, broken blood vessels the next time he glanced into the mirror. She preferred to not be here when that happened, as he’d probably pull the stick out of his ass and beat her with it for daring to do such a thing, especially where others could easily see it.

She returned her mouth to his, not staying long as she moved to his mandible. He seemed to respond favorably, twitching, a soft purring from his throat, and while he was otherwise busy, Shepard used her hands back at his waist, only this time she worked at getting his pants otherwise open.

“A-ha,” she sang, and when there was enough give, Shepard immediately forced her hand inside, more than hoping to get a grasp on what was inside. Instead… she found herself empty handed. “You’re a fucking liar,” she attacked, though it wasn’t angry, more just annoyed at being duped. “You do release spores, don’t you? Well let me tell you, I’m not—”

“Shepard—stop—” he fought to get a word in, then caught her hand by the wrist, pulling it out from his slacks. “It’s, ah… _concealed_. For protection.”

She paused altogether, her face resuming that confused, thoughtful look. “Are you not… is this not getting you going? You were the one who—I assumed that you wanted to… you know.”

“Just takes a bit of work. The right circumstances, I guess.” Garrus began to work his pants off the rest of the way, removing them and his undergarments completely.

 Shepard gazed at the nothing found between his legs, eyeing him dubiously. “I swear to God if this turns out like that Hanar video I watched on the extranet…”

“Calm down,” he admonished, suddenly a bit self-conscious. “Look, the plates… they’re loosened, I’m almost there. Just need a bit of…” Garrus stroked over his groin, holding back his moan, “…coaxing.”

“Quit it,” Shepard pushed his hand away, replacing it with her much softer one. “I want to do it for you. Otherwise you might as well be on your own with a vid, right? Just tell me what to do.”

“O-okay. Just like that, up and down is ideal. If you can run a fingertip along the seam…that works too.”

“Mmm, I’ve got the hang of it.” Shepard did just as instructed, delightfully watching the change in his body, the gap growing significant. As they spread apart, softer flesh replaced the space, swelling behind the plates, eager to get out. A stickiness coated her hand. “Uh… did you already… you know,” a short laugh, “come? I mean…”

“You’d _know_ if I had, Shepard,” he said with an annoyed groan. “Lubrication. Your men don’t have that? How do you even—isn’t it a little dry with only one sex making some?”

“I guess our ladies tend to be a lot wetter than yours. Trust me, I’m already pretty much soaking my—”

“Soaking your what?”

All at once, the floodgates seemed to let go, and in only a second, Garrus’ cock sprang forward, pushing past the boundary of the now softened and spread groin plates. It was a heavy, stiff weight in her moistened palm. Turgid already, his cock was swollen with blood in all its length and tapered tip, slightly more bulbous base, and rather smooth sides.

“You know, I understand turian blood is blue… I just guess I didn’t imagine your cock would end up that color, too.”

“What—yours are _red_?”

“Close to it. A little pink, sometimes.”

“Weird. Hey—can you stop staring at it?”

“What am I supposed to do?” she asked, looking away from the newly emerged penis and back to him. “You stared at my tits, Garrus. I get to ogle what you’re packing.”

“It’s hardly the same thing.”

Shepard decided to play dirty with shutting him up, and rather than respond with another remark, she gripped him completely around, squeezing him gently but firm enough to get his attention. Garrus made a strangled sound at the overexposure of his nerve endings.

“Up on the couch, big guy—God, I’ve been calling you that and never before has it been more true—up on the couch,” she repeated, only easing up her hold to allow him to obediently pull himself upwards, perched on the edge. Before he could get a sound out, Shepard used those lips for far better than just words, kissing the tip of his cock.

Garrus trembled.

“Don’t come so soon,” she forewarned, and did it again, this time pressing her tongue along the head, tasting him across her palette. Earthy, salty, almost spicy, something that made her tongue tingle slightly. Not bad. She tried it again.

“What… what are you doing?”

“Giving you some of our famous human hospitality, Garrus. If you interrupt me again, I’ll stop. Do you want that?”

He breathed heavy. “No. Sorry, shutting up.”

“Good,” she said contentedly, using both her hands to grasp him closer to his body, her mouth devoted to the inches that stuck out the furthest. Shepard welcomed him into her hot, wide open mouth, letting him slide along the bed of her tongue at first. She worked slow, easing him into it before she closed her lips around him, wary of her teeth as she brought him in and out. Garrus’ hands, she saw, dug his claws into the cushions of the couch. She reached for one of them, working it free, and let his cock slide from her mouth while she set his hand in her hair.

“Ground rules,” she said, licking up the side of his member. “A little nudge of encouragement is appreciated, but if you get overzealous, you’ll do best to remember that though my teeth may not be as sharp, I’ve still got them. Understood?”

Garrus let his fingers carefully tangle in her locks of hair. Was this the first time he’d even ever touched a human’s fringe? It wasn’t what he thought it would feel like, but he shouldn’t have been surprised by the softness. Humans were soft all over. He didn’t have the words to respond, so he just nodded, eager to get her to repeat her prior work.

Shepard returned in no time, taking him further in, introducing the head of him to the stiffer roof of her mouth, the more pliable inner cheeks, and then the steamy depths of the back of her throat. Garrus applied pressure to the back of her head, and Shepard conceded, taking him as far as she could without gagging, then withdrew him out most of the way, her tongue working up against the bottom, sucking him. Garrus was louder than she ever thought he could be.

All good things, however, must come to an end, and though curiosity wriggled in the back of her brain, wanting desperately to taste him, the ache between her thighs made her stop, not yet willing to have their fun come to an early end. As his cock fell from her mouth, Shepard gave it a gentle kiss, not of goodbye, but of see you later.

“Spirits, that was…”

“Yeah,” she smirked, coming to sit up beside him on the couch, “I know.”

“Is it something that your men… reciprocate?”

“I like the way you think, Vakarian,”

“That a yes?”

“Mmhmm. It’s a little different than that, but yeah. I enjoy good oral every now and then—” Just as she’d done earlier, Garrus began unbuttoning her pants, fingers curling around the waistband to unceremoniously yank them down. Shepard nearly fell off the couch, pants half down her thighs before she realized what he was doing. “Don’t even begin to think I’m letting all those teeth near my crotch.”

“Shut up, Shepard,” he bit out, continuing to fight with her pants, finally pulling them—and her socks—off to reveal long, lean, bared legs.

“No way, no way,” her head shook, half with a fearful seriousness, half out of desire to see his persistence. It was a good feeling to be wanted so much, and after so long without it, she wasn’t about to let him get away with not working for it.

“I said shut up.”

Oh, she could get used to that. He was forceful, domineering. Damn her hormones and biological urges. Shepard swore she could feel herself getting wetter the more he took control, and he was doing just that—pushing her back to lie against the arm of the couch, pulling her panties off afterward.

“You weren’t joking about being wet.” He held the underwear up, crotch sodden and darkened where moisture soaked through, dangling them from a claw before tossing them to the floor.

“I told you.” Shepard playfully closed her legs back together to the knees.

“Open,” he ordered, meeting her eyes as he returned to his more serious nature.

Shepard had no trepidation in continuing the eye contact. “What’s that?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t think I did.”

Garrus grunted, running his hand over one of her thighs, starting high and moving to her knee. There, he dared to wedge his fingers between her legs, hoping to push them apart. Shepard was strong though, almost deceptively so, so he tried another tactic, this time opening his mouth just a little to expose his long, agile tongue. “I guess I don’t have to…”

Shepard whined, a laugh swallowed in her throat. She tossed her head back, sliding down a little until her head rested on the arm of the couch, and subsequently, allowed her thighs to fall open. One bent knee pressed vertical along the back of the couch with the foot on the cushion, the other off the couch all together, sole of her foot flat to the floor. Shepard let her tongue brush over her lips, just barely tasting what remained of him from before. “You win.”

“No,” he insisted, and moved, kneeling on the floor, pulling her hips closer to the edge of the couch. “You win.” In the next breath, he dipped down, and without hesitation, ran his tongue along, tasting the faint, tangy flavor to her. Unique, he thought. Different than all the turian women he’d tasted off his fingers after working them manually with his hand.

Shepard’s thighs instinctively closed around his head for half a second, then relaxed. Garrus pulled back after the initial lick, this time to inspect what he’d never laid eyes upon before. She glistened, more from her own fluids than his saliva, and as he pulled her lips further apart than her opened thighs allowed for by themself, he was rewarded with the musky scent of her, the sight of her dripping down, even onto his couch. He made a mental note to flip the cushion in the morning.

“Tell me what I’m looking at.”

“Jesus, I don’t want to talk,” she grumbled. “Just… fuck. Lick. I don’t know.” Rather than speak, she let her hand fall between her thighs, moving from memory. At the top, she pulled back the hood from her swollen clit. “This is important, got it? If you want to get a human female off, this is pretty much the magic button. Don’t really touch it directly at first though… just around it,” and to illustrate her point, the pad of her finger traced the bud, her body shivering. “But it shouldn’t be focused on alone. It’s all about the whole experience, Garrus. Licking everywhere is good, returning here is good. Inside… that’s great too.”

“I think I’ve got enough to start,” he said, and shooed her hand away, preferring instead to claim her parts as his. His tongue returned, taking a long, sweeping taste of her. He explored lower, finding her entrance. On a turian female, it was further towards the front rather than below, but he made the mental adjustments and returned to the present with Shepard. The tip of his tongue breached her vaginal opening, and the kind of temperature he found inside of her reminded him of home. Shepard quivered, even panted, and above him he could see her hands at her breasts, pinching, plucking, pulling at her nipples as he worked. She was enjoying herself, and that thought spurred him further, his thumb back at that fabled bundle of nerves she’d informed him about.

Round and round, he circled it, stopping sporadically to stroke her up and down and then retreating to start all over again, keeping her on her toes at the unexpected changes. Soon his mouth and fingers traded places, able to now push into her more fully, digit engulfed in her all-consuming slickness as the excess spread to his palm. Experimentally, he felt around her pillowy insides, stroking each side, mindful of his talon. Shepard let out a sharp moan as he pressed up against the frontside, working over a distinctly different, almost rougher, piece of flesh.

“Come on, Shepard,” he urged her on. “Be louder than that. No one’s around.”

But all Shepard did was giggle and Garrus paused altogether. Dirty talk… maybe humans weren’t into that. He tried to not be offended, but it was too late, his pride was already hurt.

“No, no—please, don’t stop—it’s just… your mandibles. They tickled when you talked.”

He didn’t believer her, not at first, but her laughter seemed to die down. Garrus dipped his head back below, and this time, without speaking, he flared them on purpose, fluttering against her inner thighs. Shepard broke down into laughter again, chest heaving as she struggled for air.

“Please,” she said through the giggles she fought off, even stretched a hand down to cup his cheek. “I’m so close and if you don’t start again soon you’re going to be starting all over again.”

“Not that I don’t want you to come but…” He heeded her advice, stroking at her inner wall again, licking at her lower lips. “I was kind of looking forward to getting inside you.”

“We can come more than once, you know. Just gotta be good enough. And trust me, the way you’re working—it’s more than good enough. Now… don’t. Fucking. Stop.”

More than once? Turian female tended to be much more fickle, appreciating a good warming up, but if you pushed them too far, too fast, there was no getting inside them after they already received theirs. Garrus began to work with her again, making up for lost time.

Shepard had her hand at the back of his head not much later than that, hips bucked against his mouth, mandibles, jaw. His translator didn’t manage to pick up half the things she was saying, and Garrus was convinced they weren’t even in any language at all, not with the way she was swearing and moaning. He did, however, manage to hear every time she called his name, begging him on.

He’d been pushing her higher and higher, body tighter and tighter, and then suddenly without warning, it felt as though she broke, her body coming apart without control. He nearly had to hold her hips down with how hard and strong she rode his mouth, and he was insistent that he let none of her body’s natural lubrication go to waste, drinking it up greedily as she came down after her orgasm. She relaxed, a complete night to day transformation, her body like jelly against his couch, muscles in her thighs twitching in satisfaction as he licked her sex as a cat to milk, or a varren to, well, anything really.

“Get up here, Garrus,” she said, half out of breath.

He ignored her, nuzzling her inner thigh.

“D’you hear me?”

A non-committal grunt was all he supplied, making no move.

Shepard gave her own grunt, and rather than wait for him, she pushed herself from the couch, ultimately ending up straddling his lap. She pressed her mouth to his urgently, the taste of herself passing back to her from the joining.

“You magnificent bastard,” said Shepard, smiling.

“And you didn’t want to even let me try.”

“I’m the queen of bad decisions, you know that. Terrible.”

Cheeky, he replied. “I’ll remind you of that next time you want to take the Mako cliff diving.”

They kissed again, but Shepard pulled back just enough to talk. “If you don’t kiss, do you have something else? Or do you just…not have anything that’s equivalent?”

“No, we do.” He tapped his forehead lightly to hers, his hand acted at the back of her head to nudge hers forward to meet him just the same. Once touching, he moved his head ever so slightly, their skin brushing against one another. “Like this.”

“I like it,” and she used her neck to mimic his action, forehead caressing his own. “But not as fun.”

“No,” he agreed, “not as fun. But also not as likely to pass on illness or disease.”

“You said it to me earlier, so now it’s my turn. Shut up.”

Between them, Shepard’s hand met with his cock, still as hard and apparent as it had been before with her lips wrapped around it. “I missed you,” she said, looking down so he knew exactly who she was speaking to. “I see you missed me too. Didn’t he, Garrus?”

“Very much.”

“Then I think it’s time he gets to know me a little more… intimately, don’t you? Lay back for me.” She climbed from his lap, allowing him the freedom to move, and Garrus obeyed orders, pushing aside the scraps of pieces from his broken down office chair to clear some space for himself. It was awkward, and he was forced to stay propped up on his elbows. Shepard swung her leg over his hips again, seated just below where his cock saluted the air, moving her hips so she rubbed him along the front of her pussy’s lips.

“I want to touch you,” he argued.

“Then lay back, get your hands free.”

Garrus rolled his eyes, and demonstrated the point, trying to lay back on the floor, but encountering his fringe getting stuck in the way. “See the problem?”

“How the hell do you sleep?” She added her hand to down below, palming the other side of his cock so he was loosely held between her body and hand as she moved slowly, teasingly.

“On our side sometimes… we also have special pillows—I’ll just sit up.”

“Now you’re thinking.”

But when he was upright, the swell of his carapace forced Shepard to lean backward, not at a severe angle, but enough to cause a quick-forming ache in her shoulders and spine. She rose on her knees, trying to position herself over him, even lowered herself down enough to feel his tip prodding at her entrance, but before she took the final—figurative and literal—plunge, Shepard was groaning with exasperation.

“You’re deformed! I’m going to last ten seconds in this position before my back gives out.”

Frustrated, Garrus spoke through his gritted teeth. “How can you fight for twelve hours straight without a problem but can’t manage this?”

“It’s not the same.” Shepard pushed at his chest, disgruntled as she moved off of him. “You on top then, buddy. Let’s go.” She laid back, clearing her own space with a sweep of her arm on the area rug.

This time, Shepard opened her thighs invitingly to him, and Garrus couldn’t resist, hurrying to kneel between her thighs.

“I can’t believe I’m having cross-species xeno sex for the first time and it’s going to be _missionary_ ,” she grumbled while he positioned himself above her, a hand to the floor at the side of her head to bear the bulk of his weight, while the other was between their hips, guiding him towards her.

“I can always let you use your _hand_ ,” he retorted just as he pressed up against her vaginal opening, only allowing the head to slip inside, encountering some resistance with her tight muscles.

Any reply died on her lips at that sensation, forced out of her lungs. “No—I’ll be quiet.”

Garrus dropped his head down to hers, foreheads pressed together, and whatever previous annoyed dissatisfaction existed before—as they struggled to find a way for a human-turian relations to work—fizzled away.  
Shepard looped an arm around the back of his neck and offered her words of encouragement. “I want you to fuck me, Garrus. Do you understand?”

He’d never heard her speak like that before, not even with all their earlier encounters in the night. His dick just about quivered in anticipation, pushing at her entrance again, but not going in.

She kissed his lower jaw, his mandible, even his cheek as she talked directly into his ear canal. “You’re never going to have another girl dripping for you as much as I am right now—don’t waste it.” A hand stroked the length of his fringe. “Fuck me.”

Garrus, bad turian though he was, didn’t disobey the order. He hooked his arm under the back of one of her knees, pushing her leg up and towards her chest, and with that, pushed finally, fully, completely into her without concern for her body’s ability to adjust and accomodate.

Shepard’s back rose up off the floor and he could feel her breasts flush against his chest. For a second he was certain she wasn’t breathing, but then all at once she was gasping, choked moans leaving the back of her throat.  
“Jesus,” she cried, wrapping her other leg around his waist to hold him there inside of her, feeling the exquisite stretch around him.

Garrus didn’t know who this Jesus was, but Jesus, he had to agree with the sentiment, his face buried into her neck, eyes clenched shut to keep from coming just at that like some inexperienced fledgling.

Her leg around him eased and Garrus took it, in time, as a sign to proceed, so he pulled out, nearly slipping out of her entirely, and then repeated his first thrust, sliding home inside of her with force. Shepard moaned as he felt their bodies thump together as one.

“Keep—keep going,” she pleaded, finger nails digging into the back of his neck, sharp pin pricks of pain biting into his skin.

Their bodies rocked together, his hips against her thighs repeatedly, over and over again.

“Ah,” she gasped, and it was somewhere rounding over a minute when her moans of pleasure started to twist into something else, a hint of pain interweaved. She could feel that orgasm building though, so Shepard clenched her teeth through it, body nearly at the crest—-but fuck. “Stop—Garrus—stop. Time out.”

He halted immediately, releasing her leg to use both his arms to push the majority of his weight from her. Wide eyed, he stared down, horrified at the torn expression she wore. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t realize how damn rough you were. What are you made of, sand paper?” Her hands fell between them, and Garrus sat fully up on his knees now, even pulled out of her with great reluctance.

Her inner thighs, the stretches of skin he now knew from experience to be so deliciously soft, were bright red, skin rubbed almost to the point of drawing blood from chaffing, his rough plates repeatedly scraping against her virgin-like flesh.

“Spirits.”

Shepard placed her hands over her thighs, hoping the slight cooler temperature of her hands offered some relief, but there was none to be had. She winced at the discomfort. “Can you… my shirt, maybe? Put something between us.”

Hurrying, he groped around him for the first things he could find, ending up with both of their shirts. With all the care in the galaxy, Garrus laid each thigh with a different cut of fabric, hoping to shield her aching skin from himself. Guilty, that was how he felt. Maybe this was why turian-human relationships were rare. The Relay 314 incident was a long time ago, enough time for the younger generation to move past it, so maybe their species’ strained relations weren’t the reason they kept apart. Maybe it just didn’t work.

Shepard, however, saw the gears turning in his head. Pushing herself up on one elbow, she grasped him by the collar, and pulled him back down with her. “Don’t give up on me.”

“If you’re hurt—”

But she played dirty, and turned back on that sultry tone she reserved for her lovers, who now included the very non-human Garrus Vakarian. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

Reluctantly, he gave in to her and his body’s urges, and the two of them picked up from where they left off. Garrus was back inside her, even taking care to push Shepard’s thighs wider, further apart, as the thrusting started all over again.

That was it, right there. Shepard smiled delightedly, eyes shut as Garrus lapped at her nipple curiously, moving all the while. Orgasm two, coming up. Inside, she clenched around him deliberately, and Garrus faltered for half a stroke, moaning out her name into the room. She could get used to hearing that. And just as she felt that familiar rise to climax again, she also felt the fabric barrier between them shift, bunching up where pelvis met thigh, offering no protection and cushioning. Shepard hissed embarrassingly loud, and Garrus came to a stop again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She cursed shamelessly at yet another setback, smacking an open palm into the floor. Garrus was already pulled out of her before she could protest.

“Listen, Shepard, I don’t mind using my mouth on you again…” he said, disappointed, dejected.

“No, come on.” Crawling quickly to her knees, Shepard positioned herself at the couch’s edge, bending forward, her rear sticking out in the hopes to lure him over. “We keep going. Try the whole fucking kama sutra until we find something that works.”

“The karma what?”

Shepard ignored his comment, to try not to derail them any further. “Do you guys do this position?”

“ _Every_ species does.”

She twisted her body enough to look back at him. “I thought you didn’t read Fornax, Garrus?” Shepard winked.

Chiming in with her words from earlier, Garrus moved behind her, a palm roaming over the firm, fleshiness of one of her cheeks. “Just the articles.”

She barked out laughter, and it was all they both needed to find the mood once again. Shepard pressed herself back into him, and Garrus pushed forward, his cock slipping between her thighs but not entering her, just teasing them both back into full arousal. Garrus laid himself against her back, as close as his carapace would allow him, kissing at the back of her neck as he brushed her hair aside. Shepard trembled in response, looking at him over her shoulder.

“I’m glad I came here tonight,” she said with all sincerity.

Garrus could only nod. “Me too,” and moved in, brushing his forehead against the side of her head.

He directed himself inside her for the third time, this time with much more care than all the rest. It was unhurried, easy, and where Shepard had been all piercing cries of pleasure before, this time she breathed out his name.

“ _Garrus_.”

It was music to his ears, especially as he watched her, side of her face pressed into the couch cushion, eyes shut, hand near her mouth, occasionally biting at the side of one of her fingers as soft moans came from her throat. He had to admit, he felt about just as good as she looked, if not better. He’d never thought of her like this before, not even in his deepest fantasies at night alone in his bunk. Shepard was the Commander, honored and revered, but Spirits if this wasn’t a pleasant addition he didn’t mind at all.

Under her body, he worked a hand, cupping and teasing a breast for her, his other moving around to her front, pad of his finger massaging that sensitive and tender bud. Shepard’s vocalizations quickly began to lose control, growing unrestrained, and he recognized the shake to her body and the sound of her, telling him that she was nearing yet again. He quaked in the kind of response he’d never found to another lover before.

Shepard pushed herself upright, spine arching back, using his grasp to support the strained muscles as she rubbed the full lengths of their bodies together again.

“So close,” she said with the hint of a smile on her lips. “I’m gonna—Garrus—”

Then she was gasping for air, hips fighting against his as his cock dragged against her inside, repeatedly stroking that spot he’d found earlier on his own. Fingers of one hand dug into the fabric of the couch, the other back around her on his ass, pulling him in closer with each pump. Internally, she clenched him without any conscious thought or effort, her walls pulsating around him before she fell forward again, onto her elbows on the couch in the wake of her orgasm.

The pressure, her muscles a tight grip around him, it was all just what he needed. The movement of his body became erratic, losing that carefully built rhythm, and desperately Garrus tried to power through it, not willing to let their joining finally come to an end. He was no match for it, however, not with the way Shepard was pressing back at him, encouraging him to that finality, and Garrus felt his cock suddenly swell and surge as he thrust into her one last time—stopping as their bodies locked together as deeply as possible. His cock spasmed and released as he moaned with abandon, feeling that satisfying sensation of emptying out inside her depths. Pump after pump, he came until his body was absolutely spent, collapsing to drape himself over Shepard’s back, their bodies still together.

“Worth it,” Shepard said to herself, drained.

Garrus only grunted in reply, mandible flicking against her shoulder as he did so.

“Did I ruin you for life?” Playfully, she nudged him with her elbow. “The answer’s yes, just so you know.”

“Yes,” he said, breathing steadily now.

Sated, she didn’t move. “Good.”

Garrus pulled his limp and heavy body back up, working through the fatigue that called to him. He kissed down her spine, relishing the feel of her skin, committing all of her to memory.

She didn’t have a waist as tiny as a turian woman’s, didn’t have a short but sharp fringe, didn’t have that much lusted after silver tone to her plates… She was soft and pliable and supple, running a few degrees cooler than what he was used to, but damn if he didn’t have to admit he’d grown to love it in such a short time period. Yeah, this one would have to go to a safe space in his memory.

With great sadness, Garrus’ hand was placed to her hip, beginning to slide himself out of her, but was met with a sudden resistance, bringing Shepard with him the few inches he’d moved.

Oh.

No.

“What are you doing? A girl needs to relax for a minute after a fucking like that.”

Garrus froze. If he wasn’t already well beyond hot from their recent mating, he would’ve been running a fever from the implications. He moved his hand down to where they were joined, quite literally fused together, pelvis to pelvis, and tried to slide two of his fingers in, hoping to aid them in pulling apart.

“Not that I don’t appreciate it… but I think I’m done for the night,” Shepard continued, none the wiser, while Garrus thought he was about to be absolutely, horribly, ill.

There was no getting them apart, and he knew better than to try. It would only lead to both of them in pain, if not rather seriously hurt.

He coughed, tried to clear his throat, but it was dry. The words didn’t want to come. Everything, despite the problems, had gone perfect. He’d even been thinking about asking Shepard if he could return to the Normandy, but after this, after this horrible humiliation, he didn’t even know if the Citadel would be enough distance between the two of them when she was out exploring the depths of space.

“She-shepard?”

She didn’t say a word, just made a soft, pleased sound.

“I… uh. There’s a problem.”

Shepard, half asleep, blinked her eyes open, shifting where she was to look back at him, but it had the side effect of moving her hips as well, pulling him along with her. He groaned at the discomfort of being literally, led by his dick.

“So turians have this… thing, it’s rare. Kind of an old evolutionary throwback.”

She was growing more alarmed as the seconds ticked by, he could see it on her face, and it was his duty to quell the panic.

“If our bodies sense the change in your.. Ah… secretions around ovulation, it can trigger…a knot.”

Shepard just stared.

“Swelling at the base of the sexual organ… prevents the male from being able to pull out to increase the chances of conceiving.”

“Come again? I think my blood pressure’s dropping. I’ve got to be hearing things, I swear you just said your dick was stuck inside of me,” she deadpanned.

Exasperated and embarrassed, Garrus buried his face behind a hand. “It’s never happened before—”

“Is that what you say to all the girls? ‘Sorry honey, I swear, this is the first time.’”

Oh, she’d be able to see the blue of his neck now, for sure. But then he felt the warmth of her hand on his arm, and when she spoke again, the teasing, joking tone was gone.

“So I assume this… goes away?”

“Fifteen minutes, maybe. Could be as much as a half hour.”

“I suppose this would be a bad time to tell you I really have to pee.”

“Shepard—I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Garrus, relax. I was actually a little disappointed. My first time with an alien and blue-hued cocks aside, it was pretty normal. Normal with a side of incredible, I mean, but still fairly comparable to my own species. Now when I tell this story, I’ll at least have a funny ending to go along with it.” The horrified expression he wore, Shepard could only push him so far. “I’m kidding—it feels good actually, in a strange way. Although I suppose it kind of puts the idea of quickies to bed for us.”

“Like I said, it really hasn’t ever happened to me before. You hear about it sometimes with mated couples, especially if they’ve been trying to conceive for awhile. It’s not too predictable.”

“Your little guys are going to be _so_ disappointed,” she said with a shake of her head, coming to rest her cheek and chest flat against the couch cushion again. If she was stuck there, she might as well relax, enjoy it. “Not only are they going to get in there and be so pissed when they see I’ve got an implant that makes my womb one hell of an inhospitable place, but when they find that damn egg, I pity our mutated little nothing that’s never going to have a chance.”

“Are you comfortable? Should we…?”

“Knees are starting to ache a little, but I’d rather deal with it than feel like you’re ripping my vagina out when you move. How about you? Your knees are rather bony, just like your ass.”

“It is not—”

“Seriously, we need to get you to eat more, get you a little softer around the edges.”

“Turians don’t get soft.”

“No kidding. There’s one part of you I’d really love to be soft right about now,” she teased him openly, smiling all the while.

“Now you’re just doing it on purpose.”

“Yeah,” she sighed contentedly. “I am. At least give me a back rub or something while you’re stuck there.” Animatedly, she rolled her shoulders, the muscles of her back rippling beneath her skin.

Though he hadn’t a clue as to what he was doing, Garrus managed with some hesitation. It was awkward and strange, but he had to admit, the feel of human skin under his fingers was something he was getting used to. Shepard gave a pleased sigh, so he supposed he was doing something right.

Inside her, he felt himself spasm and surge again, this time only a tiny echo of all the waves that had accompanied his orgasm, but still a distinct sensation.

“Did you…?” Shepard asked, baffled in disbelief. “Are you still coming?”

Garrus didn’t say anything, but continued to rub her back, moving lower, to the base of her spine.

“If I get a yeast infection from how much of your caustic spunk is flooding and trapped in my vagina, I’ll first take your balls and put them on the outside and then I’m going to put them in a god damn vice—Oh,” she breathily moaned as the heel of his palm hit a particularly delicious spot in her tired muscles. “Keep doing that and maybe I’ll let it all slide.”

If Shepard’s silence said anything, it was just how tired she actually was. His ministrations over her back slowed and stilled all together, and there was no complaint out of her, just the quiet hum to acknowledge that she’d at least noticed the lack of gentle comforts to her. The pressure in Garru’s cock, he could feel it lessening and subsiding as the time passed, but he made no move to force it, not until he was sure.

The worst of the swelling gone, he placed a hand just between the pair of dimples above her buttocks, carefully rocking her hips forehead as he simultaneously slid his back. There was the soft, barely heard sound of a pop, like a pocket of suction dissipating, and all too quickly, his cock—now softened and already retracting—slid from her with the greatest of ease.

Shepard sighed with disappointment, even from her half asleep state. She pressed her thighs together, feeling as much of the dripping, leaking sensation as he saw, the generous amount of his seed already beginning to drain out of her now that there was nothing to keep the excess in. A twinge of something went straight to his groin. He wasn’t prepared for how much the sight turned him on, even as spent as he was.

“Bathroom?” She asked, cautiously standing, and from the odd way she moved, it was obvious she was doing her best to prevent herself from losing his security deposit by leaving a curious trailing stain on her way over.

“Last door down the hall.”

With her gone, Garrus had the time to survey the rest of the damage. His chair was still in pieces, no surprise there. Their clothes littered every surface as well, and sometime in their fucking, either of them had knocked over her bottle of amber alcohol. It was a small mercy there wasn’t much left in it, only a shallow puddle of the stuff spread over the floor, and thankfully, not the rug.

He sopped the alcohol up with his shirt, listening to the sound of the toilet and then the sink running, letting his imagination run wild as she presumably cleaned herself up. The bathroom door opened, and Garrus only looked up after her footsteps sounded and then stopped, but Shepard was nowhere nearby.

The mess would have to wait as he went to investigate, and with only so much space in his apartment to begin with, he checked the only obvious place, his bedroom. Pulling herself under his sheets was Shepard, groggy and her fringe a mess.

“Get in,” she ordered without even looking.

“I’ve got the couch.”

“Did you not hear me? I said get in. You’ve really got balls if you think you’re going to fuck a girl and then not have the decency to give her a cuddle afterwards. So be a good turian,” she patted the open space beside her, threw back the sheets for him, “and get in.”

Garrus looked back to the living room, the kitchen, the lights on and clutter growing. Then he looked back to Shepard and the answer was easy. He shut the door and got into bed.

Rolling onto his side facing towards her, Shepard led the way for him, pressing her backside against his front in a rather similar position to the one they’d been stuck in before, unwittingly. She pulled his arm around herself, and with a self-satisfied sigh, relaxed into him and the mattress.

“I can’t believe we spent all our time on the Normandy cleaning guns when we could’ve been… cleaning your gun. And my holster.”

He didn’t laugh, didn’t have the energy to do so, so he settled for that purr she so seemed to enjoy, and buried his nose in her hair.

“Go to sleep, Shepard.”

“I’m asleep.”

“Convincing,” responded Garrus, dryly.

But she said nothing after that, and along with her, Garrus, too, found sleep.  
  
—  
  
Come morning, the bed beside him was empty. Any other day, he thought at first, but when he rolled and twisted over, that tender, pleasant ache returned to his joints and muscles. The details of the night before came rushing back, as quick as anything. He wondered just how early Shepard had slipped out, if she’d left a note of goodbye. Not that he would have admitted it, but he’d wanted to say goodbye to her again, a real goodbye, if only to know where the two of them stood after the night they’d had. Perhaps, however, it was for the best.

He was sluggish as he sat up and then finally rose, naked form working with blinders on as he left the bedroom and headed directly for the washroom. He resented the need for the shower almost, especially as he rinsed away the musky, dried residue of what they’d done the night before.

Fuck. He hoped he hadn’t spectacularly ruined the friendship and camaraderie the two of them had shared.

He towel dried after the shower, letting the fabric hang loosely around his waist as he made his way back towards the living room and the kitchen that overlooked it. Something beyond the couch moved. Garrus stopped, and peered just over the edge of the furniture.

“You looked like a zombie heading to that bathroom,” Shepard said from where she was, sitting on her knees, partially dressed in a t-shirt, shorts, her hair damp but drying. In front of her was that damn desk chair of his, but where it had been in pieces the night before, it was now together. Complete, whole.

“I, uh… I thought you’d gone.”

Shepard didn’t bother to look in his direction as she flipped the chair over and tightened a few final bolts with the multi-tool he’d been using yesterday. “I can go if you want.”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I was, ah… disappointed. I’m glad you’re still here.” His words were more complicated than they needed to be. They weren’t polished, they weren’t perfect, and they didn’t express one percent of what he wanted to really say, but from the smile forming at the edge of her lips, he knew she understood him well enough.

“Me too, although you’ve got nothing to eat. I was thinking we could do breakfast somewhere. I’m not too familiar with the Citadel though, so I hope you know a place that’s dextro and levo friendly.”

“I know a couple,” he said, rounding the couch, leaning against the arm of it as he watched. He’d missed that too. She was an expert with her hands, a genius when it came to her work.

Shepard jerked her head up towards his terminal on the desk a few feet from her. “I was just going to check my messages, but I saw you had your Spectre application open. Didn’t I tell you to send that in again, weeks ago?”

“Yeah,” he coughed, ducking his head as he scratched his fringe. “Just working up the nerve, I guess.”

“Mmhmm, well I got the nerve for you.”

“What?”

Her shoulders shrugged and she righted the chair upright again, spinning it around as a bit of a test. “Submitted. Marked priority and with a good recommendation from another Council Spectre.”

“You… didn’t have to.” But he was all the more glad she did.

Shepard stood, and almost nervously—not a word he ever associated with her—brushed the tips of her fingers over the back of his hand. “You deserve it. And when you get it, I’ll be happy to serve beside you again, Garrus.”

“Shepard and Vakarian, Council Spectres, eh?” Garrus said, wistfully.

“Saving the galaxy together.”

“Sounds like the plot for some awful Blasto spin-off.”

“Yeah, well, there’d be sex too. Not very family friendly.”

He wanted to comment on her statement, ask for a confirmation of her intentions, but let it go, instead content with the possibility. “Can the Hanar that plays Blasto play me?”

“No way, he’s playing me. It? It’s playing me. But that’s beside the point. Sit in your new chair. I spent the last hour making sense of it, lubricating all the parts. I wanted to show you what it’s like to know what you’re doing.”

Garrus huffed with smugness, and headed to the chair. Like she’d done, he twirled it around on its spinning base, admiring her work.

“Get it over with,” she threatened, grinning from ear to ear.

He took his time, but there was only so much putting it off, finally coming to sit down in the repaired desk chair. Garrus leaned back.

The chair squeaked.

“Well. Fuck.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
